Paul looked up at his master. Damn, the kid looked familiar. Then it hit Paul, it was Kit-the towel boy from
the gym. Kit grinned down at Paul seeing the recognition in Paul's face.
"So you finally recognized me, Pauly," he laughed. It was a mean laugh. "Polly? Sounds more like a parrot
than a dog," he remarked, "I guess I should give you a new name. Max? Maybe, but it's prolly too masculine
sounding. You're still changing, so I should keep it gender neutral in case you end up a bitch. Maybe Fido?
Rover? Red? Goldy? Yeller? Heh, heh. You look scared, but at least your pissing. Now hurry up and do your
business. Be sharp!"
Kit? Short for Christopher, maybe? He wasn't sure. Why? He'd found the ferry boat ticket in his locker last
week. Kit must've put it there. He looked at his furry hindquarters, and whined. Had Kit planned all this?
Why? Why hadn't Paul thought-he was distracted by Kit petting his head.
"There's a good boy. I knew you could do it," Kit said bagging Paul's poop and dropping it in the nearby waste
bin. "Come."
He tugged at the leash and Paul followed. He wanted to obey. Obedience preoccupied his mind, and he forgot
about his other thoughts.